Page 35 of Puck Daddies
Damn. “I hadn’t thought of that. I probably smell like wet dog.”
She laughs sharply. “Not much. A wet chihuahua.”
I join her laugher, and when she puts her head on my shoulder, I stop moving. I wrap my arms around her and wait. She talks, voice close to my ear. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the humming,” she says. “For the dog. For telling me first. For the way you touch me.”
“You’re welcome.” It’s all I can say that won’t aim us somewhere we aren’t supposed to go yet.
12
OLIVER
My alarm goesoff at 4:10, but I’m already awake. I packed the truck last night. Two kayaks, two paddles, two PFDs, spray skirts, dry bags, towels, thermos, hand warmers. I textdownstairsand wait in the lobby with my hat pulled low.
Meg comes out of the elevator in leggings, a fleece, and a windbreaker. Hair braided. Eyes clear in that early-morning way. She lifts a small duffel. “Snacks.”
“Perfect.” I take the duffel and the paddle she carries because I want her hands free on the stairs. We load up and go. The roads are empty. The sky has no edge yet. We don’t talk much on the highway. Neither of us are chatty this early. She sips from my thermos and passes it back. It’s quiet in the cab in a way I like.
We put in near Edgewood, where the water is flat this early. The ramp light is on. The air is cold enough that our breath shows. I hand her a hat with a fleece band. “Ears.”
She puts it on and tugs it low. “Thanks.”
PFDs on. Spray skirts clipped. I double-check her foot pegs and back band like I always do and then step back so I don’t overdoit. She sets her paddle across the cockpit and looks at me. “Race to the point?”
“After we warm up.”
She nods. We push off together. The water is black and glassy. The first pulls are easy. I watch her stroke rate. It’s good. She fell into a smooth cadence fast last summer. I match it. The bow of her boat cuts a clean line. Our breath settles. It’s been a long time since we’ve done this, but we remember all the steps.
She calls over, not loud, “You okay about everything?”
“We made a plan. I like plans.”
“Me too.”
We paddle side by side for a few minutes. The shoreline is a dark strip. The first birds start up. We track along the edge for a bit and then angle out to open water. No boats. Not much wind yet. I feel her find more length in her pull. I add a half inch to mine to stay even.
“Warm,” she says.
“Race,” I answer.
She grins. “Three, two?—”
She jumps early. I let it go. I dig in a beat later and push. My kayak has more waterline. Hers has less weight in the bow. It levels out. I pull harder and feel the burn in my shoulders. She kicks and leans forward. Her braid taps her back. She cuts the angle to the point. I follow and try not to laugh. She’s cheating, but I don’t call it. I like that she’s pushing herself. The point hits her first by a half length.
She lifts her paddle like a flag. “Victory.”
“You cut.”
“Strategy. Also, I’m faster.”
“Sure you are.” I wink.
She sticks her tongue out at me and then puts it back in because it’s cold. She rolls her shoulders. “Again?”
“On the way back. Drink.”
